My Ex

Ode to the Ones

There was the one who let me leave after I said, "If you let me leave right now, I am never coming back."

There was a time I thought I'd never find the one. This organically led to several years in which I projected "oneness" onto every guy I dated, thus put up with a ton of crap. Here, I celebrate "the ones."

There was the one who let me leave after I said, "If you let me leave right now, I am never coming back."

There was the one who wanted to take nude photos of me. When I finally let him take one, he told me he showed it to his friend and was surprised to learn I was angry.

There was the one who was a talented reporter, which is one of the things I found most interesting about him. After moving in with me, he ditched his career to become a bartender. But, rather than using the extra cash to pay his share of the rent, he announced he wanted to use the extra money for things he wanted to do, like go to Costa Rica for three months alone.

There was the one who made me laugh so hard and so often until he dumped me for a girl who called him after she read a paperback he'd given her at the end of the summer. I don't remember, but I know it was a Faulkner-Steinbeck-Hemmingway-Nabokov-Austin-Tolstoy-Twain-ish significant piece of literature. I've always wondered whether he preferred her but didn't think she could read, or whether he assumed I couldn't read.

There was the one who took me to his coke dealer's house on my birthday and left me downstairs with a strange woman while he made his deal; then forgot to take me to the great place he'd been telling me about all week.

There was the one who I dated long-distance. When I picked him up at the airport for a visit, he told me he had just shared a joint under a blanket on the plane with the girl sitting next to him. I wondered why he told me that. Was it to show off his infallible judgment or let me know he'd had a little fling with blanket girl?

There was the one who, after listening to me explain my complicated relationship with my father, (no suprises here, folks) said only, "Yeah. Communication is so key," then lost himself in his electric guitar.

He is also the one who runs into my old friends now and then. They've reported that after a few drinks he usually says, "How's C? She was really great in bed." I am still quite fond of this one, actually.

There was the one who was never really mine.

There was the one I cheated on repeatedly.

There was the one who cheated on me.

There was the one who wrote and published a book about how to give a woman a g-spot orgasm, yet never tried his technique on me.

There was the one who used Nair on his testicles and was surprised at how much it hurt, though it specifically warns against using on genitals.

There was the one who was my best friend.

There was the one who was too good for me.

There was the one who loved me so much it made me angry.

There was the one who refused to lift the seat when he used the toilet at my house because he didn't want to touch it. Better to pee on the seat and let me sit in the urine splatter than to touch the dirty seat, he reasoned. And why would he touch it? It had pee all over it.

He was also the one who was arrested outside of my home for drunk driving after hitting two parked cars while attempting to park in the spots they occupied, then circling the block to survey the damage.

There was the one, my neighbor, who took the opportunity to become one by reporting the previous one's arrest and other short comings as I returned home from a business trip.

He later became the one who scoffed at me for using big words. The first of such occasions was when I referred to my company's computer system as antiquated.

This one also invited me to his brother's wedding which included staying overnight at his kind, welcoming parents' home where we slept in separate bedrooms. The next morning, he refused repeated requests to get out of bed and join the family, and me, for brunch. He finally emerged in his pajamas around noon to chase me out to my car and beg me to stay. I did not stay.

There was the one whose entire fraternity chanted "Jeffrey has a girlfriend!" when I showed up for a party at his apartment.

There was the one who kept trying to come back.

There was the one who tirelessly pursued me until I gave in to his charm, which was exactly the trigger he needed to realize I was most certainly not "the one."

And since we're on me now, I am the one who finally realized that even if I never found "the one," I'd be OK. At least in the meantime I'd have the luxury of sitting on a dry toilet seat in my own home.